The basement safe yielded more than Isabella had bargained for. Inside, wrapped in yellowed plastic, lay documents that painted her father's final days in stark detail. Bank records showing money transfers to Vittorio. Meeting notes in her father's careful handwriting. And photographs—surveillance photos of her own father meeting with men she didn't recognize.
"This doesn't make sense," Isabella whispered, her hands trembling as she held the evidence. "My father was loyal to the De Luca family."
Luca's face was grim in the flashlight beam. "People aren't always what they seem, Isabella. Even the ones we love."
They gathered everything into a canvas bag, their movements urgent. Above them, the mansion remained quiet, but Isabella knew their window of opportunity was shrinking.
